Bitersweet Red
by GoldenSilence
Summary: Ch. 2 up! Warning:Slash. Less graphic than a Disney movie, though. * Sometimes in gaining, you lose and sometimes in losing, you win.* Malon/Zelda
1. Ch. 1

@Bitersweet Red@ Ch. 1 of 2 by:GoldenSilence --------- A/N=I read one review on my story Flight of a Fledgling that stated that there are not many Zelda/ Malon fics, so this is my attempt to write one. This is my first ever slash story (is it slash if its between two girls???or is that yuri?? Confusing) Anyway, I'm very, very nervous about it. Comments are welcome except from those homophobes, who I will kindly and politely tell to click away from this link right now and read something else. *Goes in a corner to bite her nails and anxiously awaits the outcome of it all.* BTW=Wow, this couple has good chemistry, I think. I really like the way they work. Consider moi converted!  
  
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Hay stuck to her clothes and hair more firmly than a bee to honey, more of it gathering with each and every toss and torn she made. The animals too were in a similiar state of unrest, fidgeting uncomfortably in their stalls, protesting at the lack of nourishment in their bellies. Beside the girl, Epona stamped irritably, shaking her brown mane and tangling the meticulously combed hair her owner had worked so hard on. The mare's hooves danced a dangerous staccato only inches away from the girl's writhing form, while Epona whinnied, trying to bring the girl back from wherever she had gone.  
  
Malon refused to wake from her slumber. She didn't want to come back, not ever, she wanted to stay in the isolating shroud of her dreams and never wake up. Unfortunately the path that lead to an eternal reprieve from pain, she was too afraid to take. She could not fulfill her dreams, she knew it was fruitless. But still, she dreamed on, clinging tenaciously to the belief that her exsistence wasn't in vain, that it had purpose and meaning and without it, someone, that one special someone that she was fated to love and be with forever and ever, would be desolate.  
  
She knew it, it was the core of her being. She would never stop wishing, dreaming, and reaching for the beauty of life, even if she failed again and again.There was someone out there for her, someone that would fulfill that part of her that was missing so that she forgot just what part of her was missing, so much would she be a part of him and he a part of her. She couldn't kill herself, no matter how bad life turned, because she was haunted by what might be.  
  
For every horrible thing that had happened to her, there would be a good one. It was as empty a promise as any of the others in her dreams, but Malon believed, scattering her hope to the chance of the future and the will of the goddesses.  
  
************  
  
He wanted to make her scream, wanted to make her feel frightened, to run. Hell, he just wanted her to feel.  
  
She refused to. She couldn't feel, she told him. It wasn't possible. She couldn't feel loss, so he could take nothing. She couldn't feel love, so he could not steal it away. She said she couldn't feel at all, but he knew better. She may have fooled herself into thinking her emotions were sealed, but she could not fool him. Pain, unhappiness, resentment, anger. She was so full of emotions, all bubbling to a froth beneath the surface, he was surprised she did not burst.  
  
To her credit, she hid them well, and her facade was so well kept up, he doubted she understood fully how to take it down or even remembered exactly how the wall against caring had been built, brick by brick. Emotions were a link to be severed by one's enemies, something that had been drilled into Zelda again and again until she was only on the defense, even in dreams.  
  
Zelda's very wariness of weakness was her weakness. Not allowing herself to be close to anyone, not even the man she was to marry, had made her lonely.  
  
It was the same every night of her life, had always been the same. Nightmares pulled and tugged, threatening to make her one of their own forever, pulling her away...  
  
Ganondorf came in so many forms. All of them spoke of her being needed and wanted, the deepest need within her even as she denied it. Her power, her, what was the difference? she had asked bitterly in the beginning. They reassured her there was, told her that they didn't want her power, were concerned about her. And though she knew it wasn't true, she accepted it as the truth.  
  
This time, she almost went, unable to refuse them any longer. What had she left to keep her rooted firm ly away from them?  
  
*****************  
  
A rude slap across her face woke Malon and at first, she thought it was him. That was, until her face was slapped again, less harsh compared to the first, but still serving to jolt her thoughts and body into awareness of her situation. Malon sat up in the hay, her own hair even more intricately knotted than Epona's thanks to her restless movement. She glared at Epona as she swatted Epona's tail away from her face.  
  
"Mrrgurglspillgit," Malon mumbled sleepily, trying to find another comfortable spot (rather hard, as there really wasn't one among the itchy hay) on which to fall back asleep.  
  
Epona tossed her head haughtily and gave another snort. Realization dawned on Malon  
  
"Ooh. Oh."  
  
Hastily, Malon scrambled to her feet, rubbing at her eyes as she walked down the thin pathway between the stalls, a rusty bucket swinging at her side. The horses made up for their sad lack of verbal repetrior quite nicely with the expressiveness of their actions, several of the more ornery ones baring their teeth in the pale glow of early day as Malon passed, an expression that served only to scare off a few senile chickens sleeping beneath the stall gates.  
  
Malon, having been around the horses since they were nought more than fouls, simply rolled her eyes as she passed, talking to them as was her habit.  
  
It really was rather nice to talk to something that wouldn't talk back. Animals were the only things Malon could trust explicitly. There was no complexity of human emotions there, nothing that could hurt her like people could..and had.  
  
"Honestly, you all are far too spoiled for your own good. I give you hay, you want carrots. If I give you carrots, I expect you'll be asking for your own cooked meals soon."  
  
One of the older horses gave what sounded a good deal like a snicker at this statement.  
  
"Oh no, don't you start with me now, Matilda. That tiara of yours is starting to go to your head."  
  
It was a running joke between Malon and the horses. The small, cresent shaped circlet of a scar on Matilda's forehead from where Ingo had abused her had been nicknamed the tiara on account of Matilda's always acting like a queen, trotting with her knees drawn high up, practically on the very tips of her hooves as Malon imagined royalty would be.  
  
The picture of Zelda rose unbidden to Malon's mind, stepping through a puddle with her dress clenched in either hand, walking on her tippytoes like a little girl when she was just learning to curtsy. Malon allowed herself a small grin, amused.  
  
And later on when the hesitant dawn of morning had given to full bloom, when Ingo began tormenting her and taunting her as he always did, and her body was racked with fatigue, Malon blocked out it all. She thought only of the castles constructed inside her head, a spectator to her own life, which was, all in all, much to be prefered to the pain of being a participant. At least this way she would not try to fight back with her fists and her words, for if she did, she would recieve twice as much as she gave in return. Dreams; they were her sole comfort, her hope, her path of escape..her future.  
  
***********  
  
Somewhere within her befuddled subconcious, a ringing of bells resounded. Her world beckoned, but Zelda did not respond, merely sinking back into her warm and inviting covers, head raised slightly up from her feather pillow in order to gaze at her stained glass window. AT, not through, for the surface was inpenetrable, a pretty thing to cover up ugly. You could only see in it, not through, and the suspicious side of Zelda attributed this major flaw to her father. It was him, after all, that had seen to it that her room was outfitted with just such a window and Zelda was sure he had put it there on purpose. Her father did nothing without a purpose.  
  
A window that showed only one's reflection. Yes, that would be like father. As if she needed reminding of the importance of herself, of keeping all else out. Even within her own room, Zelda was protected from the outside world. Her room, the castle itself, her whole life, they were nothing more than an extremely lovely prison and for that, Zelda hated both them and her father.  
  
She viewed herself in the stained glass window, her reflection staring back at her, disoriented by the clashing of different colors of glass. Zelda continued to fix her gaze upon the window almost hungrily, entranced by her reflection. She had whirled and preened in front of thousands of mirrors, but never had she looked upon herself like this, with no pretense, actually gazing upon the image there for more than a brief second.  
  
Only the blatant truth was held here, of a girl trying to be so many people she could not simply conform into one.Within this glass, there was knowledge and an assurance of power and beauty, as there was of the destruction they would bring. Zelda greeted this knowledge with her own, the knowledge she could no longer fulfill the role the glass presented. She was... perfect.  
  
Zelda frowned, and the face that stared brazenly back at her lost some of its flawlessness with the grimace, but not enough. Groping the side of her bed, she located her hairbrush and then proceeded to throw it with all the strength she could muster through the window. The glass broke and shattered into myriads of pieces, her image along with them, at last marred. Each shard fell to the ground, twinkling like water beneath the glare of noon.  
  
Satisfied, Zelda pulled her pillow and blankets over her head, and fell back to sleep, to be awakened an hour later by the chiming of bells again. Zelda defied tradition and expectations for a full two minutes by refusing to stir, sunken far into the comforting heat of the plethora of blankets, matresses, and pillows. Then, she felt guilty and began her mornings, mornings as much a tradition as her nightmares.  
  
Zelda sighed as she stepped into yet another corset that threatened to make her internals become her externals, yelled at yet another servant for messing up her hair, pulled on yet another exquisite dress, the cost of which could probably be chalked up to a lifetime of heavy peasant taxation, and last of all, walked off to yet another boring breakfast with her father and his chauncellors.  
  
Their conversation was more limited than Zelda's ability to cook anything beyond mud pies. Link, how wonderful her engagement to him was, uncouth peasants, money, and weather. Zelda rolled her eyes and played with her silverware, watching as the egg shifted in a way that reminded her of Biggoron the goron's belly when he tried to dance. That revolting thought putting her off food altogether, Zelda decided to instead stare blankly at the tablecloth, a favorite hobby of hers.  
  
".....And of course, I must congragulate her highness on her fine match. The Hero of Time is indeed a most fine man, one I had the pleasure of working with the other day when we were clearing the forest of moblins. Not a braver one. He's a wonder with the sword!"  
  
The man waited, obviously expecting a response.  
  
"Mmm" Zelda replied blankly. Running out of candelabras to count on the tablecloth, she turned her attention instead to counting the threads composing the fabric of the tablecloth itself.  
  
"I heard you even escaped the castle once to help him destroy an inflood of orcs over by Kokiri Forest. A most irritating job, to be sure, what with the ghastly grass stains, but then, The Hero of Time makes even the most mudane jobs an adventure, doesn't he, milady?"  
  
When Zelda did not concur, Impa replied. "Indeed! Not a finer man for my Zelda anywhere, I think. And I am inclined to be a mite on the picky side."  
  
A tinkle of laughter resounded at this. Impa was notorious for her method of dealing with unwanted suitors. "Accidents", she always called them. She saw a rope going up to Zelda's room and decided to cut it. Was it her fault a man just happened to be attached to said rope?  
  
"I propose a toast," said her father out of the blue. "To Zelda and Link. May their marriage be a most happy and bountiful union."  
  
Bountiful as in rolling in money. Her father could be so obvious sometimes.  
  
"Hear, hear! To a most handsome couple, destined for a life of happiness!"  
  
Really, if they all were so confident of Link's abilities to please and comfort, they should just marry him themselves, thought Zelda.  
  
. She turned to counting spoons, feverently hoping breakfast would end before she got to the knives.  
  
*********  
  
It was after breakfast that Impa confronted Zelda.  
  
"Are you alright, child?"  
  
Zelda tried to assemble the closest thing to a rational response that she could when confronted so early in the morning. Of course, it was rather difficult to seeing as Zelda couldn't very well just spout what was at the heart of the matter. Deciding it was best to leave everything a bit hazy as she had never been very talented at lying, Zelda responded.  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
Out of all the people in Hyrule, Impa was the least likely to be so easily reassured. In any case, she was definitely the only one to make Zelda's business her business. Impa lingered on, not even trying to hide that she was watching Zelda with inquisitive eyes. This only served to make Zelda more uncomfortable. People paying attention to her always did, for some funny reason. Well, not ALL people, specifically, but.. Zelda refused to allow herself the priviledge of finishing that thought. She wasn't positive, she could be wrong. If she just didn't think about it, maybe it-the notion of it, anyway- would just fade.  
  
But it was getting harder and harder not to wonder. Making others not suspect was even more the arduous task. She felt her self consious heightened and she reminded herself of all the things she could not do, all the things that might appear wrong, that might lead them to figure it out.  
  
Well, if she was...  
  
She still might not be..  
  
"You sure? Aren't getting last minute wedding jitters or something?"  
  
A cold pressure on her arm caused Zelda to teeter backwards quickly, careening into a bush. She hated it when people touched her! Calming down her breathing, Zelda glared at Impa and crossed her arms protectively in front of her chest without being aware she was doing so. She knew. She had been questioning it for ages, but now, something had clicked and she knew. She had a reason for that tiny seed of doubt that had always known she was seperate, that there was something about her not quite right that she had to conceal.  
  
And it made her frightened and loathe herself at the same time as it made her understand. She accepted it. There was nothing to gain from denying it from herself, but hiding it from others would be a challenge. The only method of hiding it would be not being herself, she supposed, but that didn't worry Zelda in the slightest. She had lost herself long ago, after learning the art of pleasing. If she couldn't please the majority as herself, Zelda had reasoned, she could please them as someone else. And that was just what she had done, until she no longer could revert back to herself even if she wanted to, until she was naught but a favorite doll among a bunch of bickering little girls or meat thrown amongst wolves, being pulled in all directions at once.  
  
Mentally, Zelda added yet another emotion to keep hidden to her list. And, godesses, she had better keep it hidden or her marriage to Link would end before it'd even started. Decorum reminded Zelda that she had been standing in silence for far more than was proper. That and her knowlege of The Problem (as she was now wont to call it) was causing her to want to turn on her heel, sprint to the Zora's Domain, and dive head first until she came to her senses and the problem went away. Far away.  
  
"Fine. Everything's fine."  
  
"Fine?"  
  
"Fine."  
  
"Fine."  
  
"Fine."  
  
"F-" Impa caught herself halfway and gave a chuckle. "Good grog, child, something must be wrong if we have to spend the better part of the morning agreeing everything is going wonderfully." Her eyes narrowed with worry. "You can tell me, Zelda. It's not the same as it once was, I know that, but you still can tell me."  
  
Zelda briefly entertained the idea of complying to Impa's request, but disregarded it. Impa's life had already been put in danger on countless occasions, including when she was a little girl and had gone to the Temple of Time, Ganondorf chasing at her heels. A foolish little girl, thinking there were exceptions to the rules her father had instilled in her, rules of always mantaining a boundary between you and them. She could like Impa, esteem her, even, but she could never have Impa as a confidant. Impa was employed to teach, not to be a friend. Take her companionship for what it was worth, but don't respond in kind, her father had mentored her, stroking her fine hair as she cried, the last time she could ever remember doing so.  
  
"Never forget again our games aren't for fun. The games we play are dangerous. You must not be friends with Impa or anyone else, it will only kill you and her in the end. I know from experience and I am telling you this now so you will never, ever have to know the same way. Do you understand?"  
  
"Not really. All the rules are dumb and I don't like them. Why must we play games, daddy?"  
  
Her father never answered, but Zelda had found out on her own over the years. Power. An answer as simple and yet complex as the motives behind it.  
  
"Weeell?" Impa prodded. "I do hope you aren't planning on walking out on Link at the wedding. That would be very inconsiderate. Poor man would be mobbed by every eligible female at the wedding, up to his nose in hankerchiefs and offered condolences."  
  
"Don't be ridiculous. I fully intend to go through with my wedding plans. Whyever would I not? Link's a fine man, handsome, an able protector of the triforce, and more than fit to take over the duties of the kingdom." Zelda said these qualities by rote, having repeated them over and over to herself as a sort of daily reassurance.  
  
Impa raised an eyebrow. "And is that all?"  
  
What did she mean, was that all? Had she forgotten something? Zelda went over the list again in her head. "What do you mean?"  
  
"I mean, what about love? Or is that simply not a factor?"  
  
"I-I-I"  
  
Immediately, Zelda froze. Of course she didn't love him! How could she? Did Impa know so little of what her life was like that she would ask a completely pointless question like that? Her duty would never require she loved him. Even her father, who expected more out of her than even she expected from herself, would never ask of her to love. Make others fall in love with her, frequently, but love another herself? Never. Love was a powerful ally, but not an emotion you yourself wanted to get ensnared by. Once you stooped so low, you would likely be never to come up again. Love was good for achieving a means to an end, and Zelda had never thought about it any further than that.  
  
"Don't marry him if isn't for love. Don't marry anyone if it isn't for love. You deserve more than to end up like your father."  
  
"I intend to end up exactly like my father."  
  
"Then you will only be the destruction of yourself."  
  
"I don't think this discussion need continue any further. Goodday."  
  
With those last words, Zelda fled out of the garden as fast as she could and made for her rooms, away from revelations of any kind. She had to see Link, have to have him there as solid proof she could go through with this.  
  
I can and I will destroy hearts, make and break people, but I will never be my own destruction. Never.  
  
But a small part of Zelda, a very insignificant part, pondered if perhaps all she was repressing in order to be who she was would no longer be able to be kept in eventually. Love, friendship, caring, all human emotions. When her greatest weakness was being human, then what was she, contrived of rules and cunning, now?  
  
Dreams rose to touch the confused recesses of her mind.  
  
A monster. You will be a monster, as I am.  
  
**********  
  
It was, by some cruel backstab of the goddesses, not Link that Zelda found, but Malon. That in itself was not unusual as Zelda was at Ingo's Ranch, a place she hardly anticipated finding Link.  
  
Indeed, the only reason she had even entered the place was because she *had* to. No, not because she had to. A princess didn't have to do anything, Zelda berated herself. Because it was either enter the ranch or stay outside in the midst of the pouring shower of rain, though she was wondering if perhaps she shouldn't have considered the latter more seriously as she knocked on the flimsy wooden door leading up to the house.  
  
"Hurry, hurry, hurry" Zelda chanted to herself impatiently, shoes hidden in one hand to keep them from getting covered in mud, dress raised awkwardly in a knot with the other.  
  
Malon opened the door. Zelda put on what was her most cordial look, a cross between a dragon smiling toothily at its prey and a poe when shot between the eyes.  
  
"H-"  
  
Malon slammed the door shut.  
  
Zelda blinked. Being accustomed to getting what she wanted when she wanted it how she wanted it, it was awhile before it dawned on her that she had just been, in essence, refused. Zelda was in shock. Apparently, Malon still was interested in Link. She would have no problem at all with leaving Zelda on the doorstep all day, as the downpour was getting heavier by the minute. It wasn't much of a decision. Start swimming or swallow what remained of her pride, get prepared for the worst day of her life, and knock again. She couldn't swim and besides, even if her dress was ruined, she still had her shoes to save. No one came to the door to open it. Frusterated, Zelda gave it an ill aimed kick, the result of which had her hopping from one foot to another as she tried to pull out a gigantic splinter.  
  
Drat. Drat, Drat, Drat. "Oh, come on! Look, can't we just put the past behind us? You don't see me getting all in a tither over this, do you? I almost smiled at you, for goodness sake! The least you can do is open the door ."  
  
"You're the one bloody getting married to him," said a muffled voice from behind the door.  
  
"Well yes," admitted Zelda. "But I fail to see how keeping me outdoors really helps stop that."  
  
Malon was evidently thinking along the same lines as Zelda. "You could always drown."  
  
"Royalty can swim as well as any commoner."  
  
"Not in a dress big enough to pass for a tent."  
  
"He's not worth it!" Zelda shouted desperately, trying to maintain her dignity with her dress raised up to her ankles.  
  
"And you are?"  
  
"Fine, do as you please. I'll tell Ingo of your behavior and I'm sure he'll find a suitable punishment."  
  
There was a pause on the other side of the door. Hah! That would show her. Zelda drew herself up, eyes flashing.  
  
"Ingo is stuck at Hyrule Castle with his gift of a pony for your wedding. Or didn't you pass him on the way here?"  
  
Out of wheedles, protests, and sympathies, Zelda banged her fists upon the door once more. "Please-" Zelda inwardly winced as she said this-"let me in?"  
  
"Oh, alright," came the grumbling reply. The door opened a crack and Zelda found Malon's bemused face peering at her, her immediate response to which was a frown. Zelda could only imagine the fright she looked. Like a drenched bunny, most likely, jumping from one foot to the other, her dress soaked clean through, and her hair plastered to her head like a helmet. Zelda didn't wait for the door to open more than a crack before she shoved her way rudely past Malon.  
  
Malon still had a trace of a grin on her face as she gestured her hand to the floor.  
  
"I beg your pardon?"  
  
Malon shrugged. "Well, you can't very well sit in the chairs looking like a spit up rat, now can you?"  
  
"It would behoove you to remember to who you speak!"  
  
"I know exactly to who I speak. And I don't much care."  
  
The eyes that met hers were most disconcerting, on more than one level. No one had dared to meet her eyes before besides Impa, and even Impa had never had the level of challenge written across hers that Malon's did. Everyone was afraid of Zelda, everyone treated her in a way that they thought would best reflect upon themselves and lead them to advancement.  
  
Zelda was used to it and even encouraged it with her harshness to those servants or lowlifes who became too saucy or insolent as to presume to talk to her as an equal. Zelda never stared into anyone's eyes, herself. If eyes were windows to the soul, she wanted to make certain hers never strayed too near anyone else's. But this, this was different. Malon's eyes held challenge and Zelda was not one to back down. She stared straight back, raising her eyebrows, face full of confidence brought on by the pampering of all her whims.  
  
Your whims, not your needs. You need emotion, you need to feel. Your amibitions are not your own. Get rid of them.  
  
By the time Zelda had thought up a retort to both the irritating voice in her head and Malon, the oppurtunity had passed, and she cursed her luck for not thinking up a comment sooner.  
  
Zelda was pleased to see that Malon dropped her gaze from Zelda's own first. Good. After all she had heard of Ingo's methods, Zelda would have thought Malon had learned her place.  
  
"Are we just going to continue standing here like a bunch of pantomimes? I'm freezing. Go to the kitchen and make me some tea."  
  
Malon was not to be thrown into submission. "You'd best come with me."  
  
"What, to help you make tea?"  
  
"No, there is a fireplace in the kitchen."  
  
"I need not go to a *kitchen* to get warm. I am perfectly cozy here, thank you very much. However, my slippers are postively ruined. Hang them out for me."  
  
"No."  
  
"Did you just refuse an order?"  
  
"I did."  
  
Zelda spoke the words that rose to the tip of her tongue. "Why?"  
  
"If you expect me to keep you in my house as my guest, just drop this whole act."  
  
Zelda gave a small snicker of disbelief. "You can hardly expect me to act on the same level with you. I mean, really, I knew you were naive, but that's preposterous."  
  
Malon's mouth tightened around the edges. Zelda found herself observing strictly out of curiosity, any other unwanted feelings crushed down. Malon's anger was magnetic, not like Zelda's, which had oft been compared to that of a freshly beheaded chicken running about, but calm and deadly, with reasoning on its side.  
  
"Contrary to common belief, your HIGHNESS, peasants are not royalty's dogs to be ordered about and given tidbits to for good behavior."  
  
Abashed, though she never would have admitted it, Zelda followed a few steps behind Malon as she skulked off to the kitchen, ceasing only when she realized the path her treacherous feet were leading her. It was not often Zelda was taken off balance by a situation, but now, she found herself unnerved and unsure. Her feet began to move again of their own accord until she reached the kitchen, where Malon was preceeding to move a bubbling cauldron beneath a fire.  
  
"Aha, so you do follow orders after all."  
  
Zelda had a full second of gloating before Malon forced a spoon into her hand and directed her towards the fireplace. "Stir."  
  
"I don't do menial tasks."  
  
"You do now, unless you wish to be thrown from my house."  
  
"Your house? Funny, I seem to remember it being Ingo's."  
  
Malon's voice was firm. "It's mine. And you as company, can act curteously."  
  
"This is highly emberassing" Zelda managed to mutter from beneath a very red face as she made her way towards the fire, spoon held out as a weapon to fend off soot and dirt from her hands.  
  
Malon's eyes softened in sympathy. "Only because you make it so. There is no one here to be emberassed by. Don't worry, your reputation is safe with me. I'll tell them I was ordered to scrub the floors with my backside, if that's what you want."  
  
"Hmmm..how about forced to sweep the filthy ground with your hair?"  
  
"Deal." Malon turned from her place at the sink washing dishes, to observe Zelda in her attempt at the culinary arts, face strained as far to the side as it could go, slightly puggish nose pinched in disgust as she stirred sporatically with one hand, dipping the spoon in tenatively before pulling it out again.  
  
"That's it," Malon nodded encouragingly. "Now just add some of the spice from up there."  
  
Zelda grabbed a blue pot from a high shelf. "This one?"  
  
"Yeah, that's it." Malon had a sudden premonition. "Zelda, where's the spoon?"  
  
The answer she recieved was stiff and angry. "Just because I'm acting like this, don't assume we're all chummy. I am not Zelda to you, I'm not Zelda to anyone."  
  
"Suit yourself, milady-," the emphasis was obvious,"-were did you leave the spoon?"  
  
"Right he-" Zelda's voice broke off as she stared in the abyss of the pot. The wooden spoon, once sloped against the edges of the cauldron where Zelda had placed it, was now nowhere in sight, lost somewhere beneath the murky depths. "Oh."  
  
Malon sighed, wiped her soapy arms on her apron, and came over to stand beside Zelda. Not having been taught to apologize, Zelda did the only version of an apology she knew; an excuse. "No need to get all worked up. It's only a spoon. Not much difference in worth between it and a rock.Though, I suppose for you common people, it's valuable, seeing as I'm sure it cost you a..umm..fortune. I can pay you if you want."  
  
Zelda thought she was being very sympathetic about it all, to the extent of almost being too nice, and expected to be praised and thanked, in that precise order. What followed was Malon's grabbing one of Zelda's silk slippers from where the hung above the fireplace and dropping it into the cauldron, easy as you please.  
  
Zelda was horrified. "WHAT IN THE NAME OF NAYRU WAS THAT FOR?"  
  
"Oops. Just a mistake. I suppose for you rich people, a slipper's valuable. I can pay you for it if you want."  
  
Her own words reflected back at her sounded petty and conceited. Not that these weren't inflections Zelda's voice usually contained, but for once, she honestly hadn't meant for the statement to come off as such.  
  
" Charity really is wasted upon the poor." Malon did not attempt to hit Zelda or harm her in any physical way at this, to Zelda's dissapointment, for she would dearly have loved to land the other girl a few punches but would never take action first, she wouldn't give Malon the satisfaction of knowing she'd struck a nerve.  
  
Without a second thought, Zelda leaned the whole upper half of her body into the cauldron with the air of a martyr, the steam tickling her face as her hand, burned beet red by the seering heat of the water , searched for the misguided shoe.  
  
"Typical royalty. More concerned with a pair of shoes than your own well being."  
  
Zelda gave her a glance, an unreadable glance. She dropped the drenched shoe to the floor, uncaring of the ashes gathered there, before dipping over the cauldron again.  
  
"Are you insane? You'll burn your hand off!"  
  
Zelda didn't listen. Worried and wishing she could take back her words, Malon grabbed at Zelda's arm and began trying to yank it out of the water. Zelda refused to let her arm be forced out. Muttering a prayer to the goddesses, Malon reached her arm into the cauldron as well, giving a hiss of pain as the burning water greeted her skin. She didn't waste any time in finding Zelda's hand and clutching it tightly in her own, pulling upwards with all her strength.  
  
The sheer force of her pull caused both Malon and Zelda to stagger backward, bits of hot water splashing from the cauldron as it threatened to tip. Malon raised Zelda's hand to her own and began examining it carefully, spreading each finger apart and moving it experimentally up and down.  
  
Before shadowy emotions could fully solidfy, Malon pulled away, only to return with a towel. Putting a hand on Zelda's shoulder, she began to lead her to the living room. The hand burned into her skin like a brand, she could still feel the pressure of it even as she hurriedly shied away from its touch and walked to the living room on her own.  
  
"I'm going to pull of the dead skin. This may hurt."  
  
Sitting down beside Zelda on the floor, Malon began gently administering the wound, pulling of bits of dead skin before wrapping the lower portion of Zelda's arm in a towel, moving it carefully up and down again, from side to side.  
  
Zelda was enjoying Malon's presence and wishing to hurl for being sick enough to enjoy it. You can't do this, you musn't. You can't pretend you don't realize what's wrong with you anymore..  
  
I can't feel anything. It's not as if I can respond to anything, Zelda argued.  
  
" You're lucky it's not worse. Can you feel anything?"  
  
"A little. It's still pretty numb."  
  
How she managed to form a reply, Zelda would never comprehend. Don't, was all Zelda's mind could think over and over, wanting to snatch her hand away and leave it there. She could feel nothing in her lower arm, but leaned as she was towards the appendage, Malon's long hair continued to brush the side of her neck.  
  
It shouldn't have been significant. It was unkempt and dirty and as was typical of peasants, probably hadn't seen a bar of soap in weeks. But it also made her aware. Both comfortable and uncomfortable with awareness and knowledge that if she moved her head just slighty to the right, that hair would be resting against her cheek. Zelda gave a sharp intake of breath, both of fright and pain, as feeling returned to her arm when Malon took off the damp towel placed there in order to better study it. Malon refused to let herself think as she scrutinized Zelda's arm very closely, closer than even the most concerned eye warranted. It was slim, with tiny hands tapering to miniscule fingers, each perfectly trimmed. Malon's own fingernails were ragged and bitten down to the quick.  
  
Even her arm is elegant, thought Malon sadly. No wonder Link chose her over me. If even I was pretty, I still couldn't contend. She's pretty and she has money, gobs of it.  
  
She's pretty. Suddenly, what had been fine moments before was all jumbled and confusing. An unkown impetus was compelling her to back away, to get away from a proximity now overwhelming. But why? questioned Malon. She leaned over a little in order to be closer to Zelda, her intution reacting before her mind. Zelda smelled nice, like the cleanliness and freshness Malon could never afford. That was when Malon's conscience was sent reeling. She felt like a child caught stealing. Immediately, Malon scooted back from Zelda, able to breath normally again, her heart stopping its incessant hammering.  
  
She spoke, simply to bring back some abandoned sense of normalcy. "I shouldn't have said that about nobles earlier, or done that with your slipper. I apologize. Your comment was rude, mean, and entirely uncalled for, but I apologize. I shouldn't have dignified it with a response."  
  
Zelda wanted to apologize, but found she could not. The words "I'm sorry" just wouldn't let themselves free. "I forgive you."  
  
A tiny corner of Malon's mouth quirked. "And I forgive you."  
  
Apparently the problem with Zelda had had no effect upon Malon. She was relieved the implications of what she was could stay hidden. "You don't need to. I didn't apologize and I see no cause to."  
  
"You act as if the walls themselves have eyes." Malon shrugged. "Hey, I forgive you anyway." Her eyes turning unbidden to where they had a tendency to look. "But you're shivering. Tell you what, I'll make you some tea, and you can sit in front of the fire and drink some. Not too close this time, mind."  
  
They sat in quiet, Zelda's burned arm wrapped in a new damp towel, while she raised the cup of tea to her face, the warmth of it coloring her pale cheeks slightly pink. Zelda had never been so relaxed in her life. No pressure to be anything she wasn't or even anything she was, no worries about how she presented herself or what others thought of her, none except for the sole one that could be disregarded as completely irrational and uneeded.  
  
Well, here they were, thought Zelda. Strange, she never took Malon for one who could keep her mouth shut, figured she talked to such an extent, she'd one day swallow her tongue. Though then again, Malon had never taken Zelda for any type before herself, other than the snooty princess, the winner of Link's affections, and consequently, her rival. Zelda really wasn't half bad for all she put on airs.  
  
"You are horrible at bullying people, has anyone ever told you that?" Malon asked lazily as she sipped her cup of tea and made a face. Too strong.  
  
"Not if they value their lives."  
  
"That explains it then. Whenever you order people about, you remind me of this goron I saw once, who insisted if he raised his chin high enough, he could see his eyebrows without a glass."  
  
Malon was intending to get Zelda to laugh, wanting to see if Zelda could laugh at herself, but the quality completely alluded her, making Malon long for the silence of earlier. "Why must you irritate me so?"  
  
"Those who are wrong are usually irritated by those that are right."  
  
Zelda passed right over this slight. "I was thinking...when the storm is over. I can't be the way I am now, but we could still make this truce permanent."  
  
"Truce?"  
  
"On..Link, I suppose. He's not worth it."  
  
Malon frowned. "That's twice you've said that. If he's not worth fighting for, worth giving for, worth taking for, then you shouldn't be marrying him in the first place."  
  
"I shouldn't, and I wouldn't be if there were anyone better, but you and I both know there isn't."  
  
Malon dropped her tea cup into the sink so hard it chipped. "Just when I'm beginning to think you're decent for all you pretend, when I'm thinking maybe you won't kill Link in his sleep in exchange for an extra bag of gold after all, maybe you deserve him, then you go and..and..treating him like a pawn in a game of chess. It's revolting!"  
  
"But that's what he is, to you and me. We fought over him like one, you remember?"  
  
"That was different! I fought for him because I loved him, not because he was a piece of property to be owned."b  
  
"Oh wasn't he? Don't deny you know how rich he is now. He could grant all of your wishes without so much as batting an eyelash. You'd love anyone that could take you away from this."  
  
"No, I wouldn't. I won't ever, ever allow myself to leave until I'm in love. I'd regret it, just as you will after you're married to Link. I don't throw myself at people's feet. I have more pride than that."  
  
Zelda set down her cup. "So do I. Link is an asset to me, but it would be just the same for anyone else, no matter who I chose to marry. I can't love, not even Link. You're right, he deserves it more than all else, I know he does."  
  
Zelda stopped and frowned down at the ground. "I shouldn't be telling you this. Secrets are liabilities."  
  
Malon gave an unladylike snort, something Zelda had been wanting to try ever since the age of six. "Oh please, who in Hyrule would I possibly tell? Ingo? The chickens? The horses? I'm not allowed outside these gates." Malon took Zelda's mug to the sink and washed it and her own out before setting them on a stool to dry. "Link loves you. Always has."  
  
"And I tried to love him, but don't you see I can't? I can't love anyone, not even Link, not even if I wanted to." The last part of the sentence was whispered, Zelda's face hidden beneath a face of hair. Malon suspected the veil of hair covering Zelda's face was purposeful, but even Zelda could not hide the wistfulness in her words.  
  
"You don't want to, not you can't. Everyone has a capacity for loving."  
  
"Not when you don't have a heart."  
  
Slowly, Malon put up her own hand and raised it to the area of Zelda's heart while Zelda leaned back as Malon came nearer, unsure, her usual mask of indifference slipping from its hook and leaving confusion in its place. The hand was the gravity of Zelda's emotions and all else was spinning around it like a whirlwind.  
  
"You have a heart. You can feel."  
  
Malon's voice shattered the fragile questioning of the moment, served to cut through it like a skiff through water, gentle but definite all the same.Malon had grasped Zelda's own arm and was gently pulling it towards her own heart, but the movement was too late. The atmosphere around them was no longer stilled with waiting and Zelda's mind no longer a muddled jumble of confliction. Honorable intentions didn't persuade Zelda one whit. Still clutching her hand, she scuttled further backwards.  
  
"I don't understand why you can't..." Malon mused. "Are you afraid of getting hurt?"  
  
"Of course not!"  
  
"That's what I thought. Keep shutting people out and you'll be left with only yourself to rely on. And you can't always do that."  
  
"People are expendable. I need only myself."  
  
"The people you chose to make alliances with, perhaps."  
  
Zelda tensed from her previous relaxed state. "Are not!"  
  
"Aha, you're defending your friends, so you do care. If you can care, you can love." Malon gave a victorious smile.  
  
"Don't think I'm all goody two shoes like you. I'm only defending my reputation. You are who you associate with."  
  
"If you truly believed that, you wouldn't be associating with me." Malon laughed again, something Zelda was fast learning was a mechanism as much as any trick she had been taught. Laughing was the only thing that kept her from crying. That she had picked up on Malon's habits irked Zelda greatly. Zelda was never perceptive to anyone's needs save her own and though she had just told Malon that caring and loving were not of the same capacity, Zelda was greatly afraid that they were.  
  
"Don't say that! You'll never get anywhere if you stand in your own way."  
  
Malon was unhappy, the self pity evident, and Zelda had snapped to comfort and concern faster than a hookshot to a target. This was bad, very bad.  
  
In less than one day it would be over, there was no reason to care about how Malon felt. Soon Zelda would be gone and it wouldn't matter what transgressed, or what was said. Zelda could even kiss her, if she wanted, kiss her with no fear of reprecussions. She entertained the idea, but would never carry it out. Zelda had kissed many and loved none, so why could she not do so again? Malon was doomed to be just another tired face in a long line of faces that would vanish only to be replaced by a an improved one, handsomer, or wealthier, or more influential.  
  
Malon was not the same, was not a routine. Nothing was to be gained by kissing Malon, only lost. If Zelda kissed Malon, there would be no end, she would be not better than Malon was.  
  
"You're no different," Malon pointed out. " You let yourself down before others can."  
  
"No, I don't. I am always thinking higher and better.Therefor, I am higher and better than you.  
  
"You are. But your station doesn't matter. Objects can never replace people."  
  
"I told you before, I don't need people OR objects. I need only myself."  
  
Malon raised her arms in defeat and made a noise of disgust. "I give up! You think you can't depend on others because they are so much weaker. Why don't you just try for once? Weaknesses are only strengths viewed through another's eyes. If you weren't so biased, maybe you wouldn't be so miserable. But then again, since you seem to enjoy being miserable so very much, by all means, continue."  
  
"I've never been able to talk to anyone about it," Zelda whispered, repulsed by how weak she sounded, how little like a ruler. She was depending on Malon now, doing all the talking, her mouth blathering on even as she wanted to cover it with both her hands. Malon could misinterpet her openess and use it against her, but Zelda didn't think she would. Malon wouldn't understand the games of back stabbing coquetry those who craved power played, and even if she did, Malon had too firm a set of morals to ever stoop to joining as a participant.  
  
Zelda trusted Malon, if only because as she assured herself, Malon was of such a lowly station that it was of no matter what she said, anything would be trivial. Even for one as suspicious and mistrusting as Zelda was, Malon was trustworthy. She was pliable, the kind of person to be easily manipulated, the kind of person, thought Zelda as she observed Malon's arms covered in a multifarious arrangement of crisscrossing scars and bruises, new throttled purple and blue mixing with the old cutting jagged lines across the skin.  
  
Anger filled up in Zelda before she could help it, turning her stomach to acid as she observed the paths scraped by fingernails clawing with no intent on precision, bruises formed by drunken punches, no particular aim in all of this except to hurt, to dominate. Helplessness replaced anger, the helplessness she had felt in her dreams so often until she had learned to cease to feel for others. It was the only way to mantain her sanity, to keep far at bay that feeling of wanting to help them all no matter the cost, the cost she knew would be death. She could never save them all in her dreams, not even when she strove to. For every person she rescued, another died, and each death killed off a part of her until she was left with the regret and sorrow of the world on her shoulders. Yes, far better to die of apathy than compassion.  
  
Zelda stood up from the floor and made to leave the cheerfully intimate kitchen. "I don't have to put up with this. You're one to talk about being miserable, crying into three hankerchiefs a day, pining over something you can't have and waiting for a prince on a white horse to stride in. Pathetic."  
  
It was the truth. Malon had refused oppurtunites for escape because of her pickiness and paid for such refusals dearly. As standards went, her's were as high as Zelda's, and even more ideal. Privately, even Malon knew no such man exsisted except for in her dreams, but she kept to her guidlines, knowing that they only served as a cloak with which to cover the unmentionable. She dreamed of a man unattainable because secretly, in her heart of hearts, she didn't want a prince, or knight in shining armor.  
  
Malon's eyes hardened and Zelda, still staring at those damaged arms, glanced hurriedly away, as Malon moved her shawl to cover them up. "Sometimes it better to lose than win. At least I am free to love him. You? You can't even dream."  
  
"I don't need dreams. I know the future. Dreams are just desires and I have all my dreams fulfilled."  
  
"Oh, of course you do, your HIGHNESS-" there Malon went with the annoying emphasis again-"but the only reason you have all your desires fulfilled is because you don't have any idea what you really want."  
  
Realizing she looked rather slow witted simply standing there in the middle of the room, Zelda whirled around and left in quick, meaningful steps as she had meant to do earlier. Then, on a change of whim, Zelda swung around, blonde hair sending droplets of water flying as it whipped, eyes narrowed to small, piercing slits, eyebrows drawn low.  
  
"How the godess's name would you know about what I want? Don't you presume to understand me. Ever."  
  
Delivering her barb, Zelda turned around one last time and marched out, head raised so high it was a miracle it did not scrape the ceiling. She slammed wide the front door only to be welcomed by bucketfuls of icy rain. Mumbling several expletitives that would have sent the majority of the court into disbelief, Zelda had no option but to walk right back in, halting just short of the living room, puddles forming at her feet. If she had to stay put until she turned into an icicle or caught frostbite, she would. Zelda refused to budge so much as a toe until Malon apologized.  
  
It was a long wait. Zelda's teeth were chattering and she wished for nothing more than to sink to the floor, and pull her knees up to her chest for warmth, but she remained upright and standing, back ramrod straight. Malon was dangerous to a higher degree than she had originally thought, though still laughably an idealist. Zelda would have to be more on guard. If Malon was going to draw such personal conclusions, Zelda would turn the tables, get Malon to talk instead of herself. All this venting would lead nowhere Zelda favored going. Understanding could not be permitted. It was far too close to trust, trust in turn far too close to friendship, and friendship far too close to...  
  
Zelda kicked at a puddle, spreading the water with her toe, returning to self control. Why did everything all have to come back to that?  
  
**************** 


	2. ch2

[pic]@Bitersweet Red@  
  
ch. 2 of 2  
  
by:GoldenSilence  
  
---------  
  
A/N=Very light f/f romance in this. I am still so very nervous about this story. Its sort of my pet project of the moment.:) Thanks for all the reviews of the last chapter! They encouraged me! Sorry this part took awhile, but what with fanfiction.net always being down and me going on vacation to Belize...well, my writing got quite pushed aside.  
  
----------  
  
She was but a small object between the war of the elements, torn at in equal measure by wind and rain, both of which appeared in their maliciousness to be trying to obliterate her from Malon's view entirely but were not succeeding. If Malon pressed her nose hard enough against the rain spattered window, she could just barely see Zelda, who looked to be doing her best to finish the job the wind and rain had begun. She was curled up as small as possible with her head buried within her arms, her hair streaming behind her, coaxed by the wind to flow as many directions as there was sky.  
  
The scene outside the windowpanes was not entirely clear, the images muddy as if seen through layers of fog, or, thought Malon, a dream. A dream was a most accurate way of describing it, of describing the surreal-ness of that figure crouched on the ground, her fancy shoes and clothes forgotten as they became speckled with mud. Slowly, the figure unfolded from within itself and rose to stand. When she did so Malon's eyes widened and she stepped back from the window as if the sight she withheld was a painful one.  
  
Zelda, her face resolute, her hair flowing behind her in a tangle of yellow that Malon's mind could not attach to any other thing of substance, looked for the first time since she had come to Malon for shelter from the rain, as unearthly and inhuman as Zelda sometimes felt she was. The rain and dirt should have made her more human, but instead the served only to elevate her higher. It was the distance that contributed, the distance that made Zelda seem less a familiar person and more something wild and alien, a wayward nymph standing as still as the trees she inhabited, something that shouldn't be viewed.  
  
Whatever Zelda was doing out in the rain, rocking to and fro, Malon felt distinctly that it was private.  
  
As she awaited the knock on the door she was sure would come, Malon strived to calm her nerves as her sensitivity fought against her self control, the former in favor of going out to Zelda in the rain and being the first to offer apology and seek forgiveness.  
  
Malon did not budge, interested in seeing what Zelda would do if she didn't, for Zelda was probably, she figured, counting on her to.  
  
I am my own and I refuse to allow myself to become subject to anyone simply because they have more abundance. I won't for her sake. She either drives people away on purpose with her words or on accident with her beauty. Well, I won't be driven away, even if only for this day.  
  
I refuse to let anyone intimidate me.  
  
Of all mantras (and Malon had a decade's worth sown in her blanket of memory thanks to constant reading) it was the hardest lesson. It was also the one that least applied to herself, thought Malon, forcing down bitterness that would have filled the heart of one less determined than she. She had, when she was a child, not been shy at all, the issue of words from her mouth more comparable to a flood than the babbling of any brook.  
  
She and her father were poor, but yet their farm was a profitable enough venture with the milk and eggs they sold, and more importantly, she and her father were happy. She should have seen it coming. Her father took to sleep as a drunkard to liquor. Put bluntly, he was asleep more often than not dreaming and the precious time he spent awake was daydreaming of his dreams. Put with a nice, sharp edge to it, he was quite possibly the laziest man aside from a corpse.. or the leader of Hyrule's carpenters; who would move only if bodily carried, and as this was a feat impossible, seeing as was he an anchor all his own, simply stood in one place. A fat head like a balloon and legs that wobbled inward; He reminded Malon of a squid. Malon had a strong inclination for comparing people to animals and other magical creatures (only in her head after her first attempt at otherwise.)  
  
Ingo, on the other hand, looked not so much like any member of the animal species as he did a person who had been dragged around by his nose for half of his childhood, and his ears for the other half. Malon always giggled when she saw him as a child. A clown his looks made him appear and she wondered why someone who looked so the clown would be so sad. With his long, thin moustache, big nose, and bushy eyebrows, he had a face made for smiling, she thought. He was overworked unfairly, she admitted.  
  
She shouldn't have felt sorry for the man, but she did. For all he'd put her through, he had been through-no, not as much-but a little of the same. She had tried as a little girl to do in vain what her father avoided or ignored as petty matters of no consequence, but even she could not take on so big a task nor no everything that it was made of. Keeping a ledger of goods sold, making sure every animal was accounted for, seeing every promise for deliveries of milk kept. These were all things Ingo took care of tirelessly, for little money..and that when her father remembered to pay it.  
  
Her father was a thinker, not a doer, and in this, Malon was not ashamed to admit she was her father's daughter. Like her fright of Ingo, it had not been so once, but now, when her waking hours and more were crammed of work, she did her jobs with body only and without mind, her mind a million miles away in a place more comfortable and secure. Without her dreams, she would not still have belief in the positive. She believed in the good in everyone, no matter how hidden, and if that made her a naive little girl, then so be it.  
  
Beliefs, some taken from books, some from her own fanciful head, and dreams composed of such beliefs were all she had left. Ingo had been a different person once, for all he had been so sad. This Ingo of the present wasn't the one of the past. It wasn't him. Thinking thus erased any guilt Malon felt over her treatment, any thought that this was a wrong in return for another. He had been wronged, but this Ingo that beat her now, that worked the animals and her with spite and malice, was not doing so for revenge. Revenge was human and Ingo, he had ceased somewhere to be that. Still, Malon's heart went out to the man buried somewhere within, the man that had been so sad and dour. Malon felt sadness for he who could no longer feel and the pathetic figure in the rain outside who hid from what she felt, even as Malon wished she could do the same.  
  
To feel so acutely as she did, it brought the highest joys, but with them, the most intense lows. Link had given her both. Malon could have saved herself from both, but she was not sorry she hadn't. Just as she was not sorry for a word she had said to Zelda. Usually timid, she wasn't sure what had moved her to speak to Zelda so boldly. Because she's a spoiled, self- centered, rotten brat, that's what, Malon thought. And she's had her proverbial boots licked clean every time she soils them for far too long. Even so, it was more than that. When Zelda was in her presence, there was a way about her that commanded you to challenge her.  
  
Even now, any one of the words she had said could be considered reasons enough to have her harmed if not killed. All Zelda had to do was tattle tale to her father, and Malon, who found little to trust in the world, could not trust her not to.  
  
The knock on the door at last came. Malon snatched a wayward book and busied herself looking, well, busy. Her offence might be beyond forgiveness, might claim her life, but she would not allow it to color her into fawning over the princess like everyone else did, treat her as if she was more than she was. She had been scared of Ingo for long; she would not be scared of Zelda as well.  
  
For all her eyes roamed up and down the page of her book, Malon digested not one word of it.  
  
***************  
  
The chilling rain soothed Zelda's agitated spirits, washing over her and cleansing her of self loathing, anger, and fright. Like an cornered animal at a hunt, her wariness was not at ease, and she had been sent into a high state of protection and defense by a human hand reaching too close to.. to what?  
  
Zelda put a hand to her heart and was surprised to hear the rough, steady rhythm it beat, as if she had thought the appendage had ceased to work altogether. Ah, but perhaps it would be best for her if it had. The rain did nothing to smother the noise of the beat. On the contrary, to Zelda, the rythm filled the air until it surrounded her, until the trees, the ground, and the sky shook with it, beat in unison to it. It was a menacing sound. There was no escape from her feelings, the barren branches, bark slick with droplets, whispered to her. There was no escape from facing herself, the rain, too thick to see beyond its icy grasp, and the sky, too dark to see beyond that which was illuminated by erratic strikes of lightning, concurred.  
  
Zelda wanted only to make it all cease and so as a young child would do, she curled herself into a small ball, ceaselessly rocking in an attempt to dissemble the rhythm of her heart, the presence of that which would save her from herself, suffocated her, pressed her in with no method of escape. No method other than backtracking the way she had come, retracing footprints back to the cozy house and further back to angry words she had let fly without thought of retribution.  
  
Her mind goes even further back then her feet itch to go, goes back to things that were, words that could not be taken back as Malon's or Zelda's of a few minutes ago could, words set in granite, with only time as their unpromising cure.  
  
"Never apologize," he said. "You must be absolutely certain of each and every thing you do. And if you are not born of that mind, then you must pretend to be absolutely certain so others will be mislead. Certainty leads to trust. People gravitate to one who knows what he's doing. Don't ever give them, or me, cause to doubt that trust. "  
  
Silence. The little girl doesn't understand it all, doesn't presume to. For all she is royalty, for all the expectations placed upon her, she is still but a little girl, and while her mind tries to grasp the words of her father, it fumbles and falls.  
  
And the little girl is ashamed, because whatever she is ignorant of, this she knows. She must never fall. Never, ever, ever fall, because her daddy has told her that a true queen never, ever, ever falls.  
  
So the little girl pretends to understand. She only five and already she is versed well in the art of pretending. After all, pretending is just another game. Only five, she thinks she can stop playing whenever she wants, thinks that this game is just a game. It's just a game, one that contains pawns instead of people. What are other people anyway? The little girl is secure in her protected circle of three. Impa, her father, and herself; three, just like the number of the goddesses, she thinks and is proud of her thoughts, because they show she is clever. That even though she doesn't understand daddy when he talks like this, she is clever.  
  
The three will always be there, she thinks, when the games end. They know, and they understand her without games. Her father continues to lecture, but she is not really listening, the drone of his voice comforting her. She doesn't need to listen; she realizes then, a sudden realization that fills her with a strange feeling of lightness. She doesn't need to listen because she doesn't need to play these games! If three people are hers without these games then the others don't matter. She never cared about the nameless faces she must impress. They all blend into three, anyway. Three that she doesn't have to play games around, that she can just exist around without being asked to perform anything more of a miracle than that.  
  
"....Zelda, are you paying attention? This is important!"  
  
An uncharacteristic smile fills the little girl's face, wide and brilliant, carefree as the birds that she loves to run around the palace gardens trying to catch. It is not the smile of a child with worries and restraint. It is not the smile of a child with deadening responsibility. And it most certainly is not the smile of his princess.  
  
"What is it?" he snaps.  
  
She opens her mouth to tell her daddy of her enlightenment, of how simple it all is, of how silly of her daddy not to catch it. But something in her daddy's face holds her back from speaking, something dark and dangerous. The little girl has always believed her daddy can read her thoughts and now she is positive of it.  
  
He knows what I know, she thinks, and that is why he frowns. Her smile vanishes instantly. Then, a ray of sunshine through the clouds. He knows what I know but he doesn't understand, she assures herself. If only I could explain....  
  
"Noffing, daddy."  
  
"Zelda, darling," her father tries to be gentle and firm, but doesn't quite suceed, the tremor in his voice giving him away. To wrench himself away from his daughter's closeness is not an easy thing by any measure, even for a hard hearted man such as himself. Zelda's father does so only because he knows he must. He takes a deep breath and reminds himself that it was only such actions that saved him from drowning in despair after his wife's death.  
  
Such actions are not foolproof, warns a cautious voice in his head. They could not save you from guilt and they will not save her, will not protect her.  
  
"What is it daddy?"  
  
He puts a hand on her shoulder. "From this day forward, Zelda, I can no longer be daddy to you. In public as in private, you will address me as 'sir'."  
  
"Why, da"-the little girl caught herself in time-"sir?"  
  
"It is time you grew up," her father said simply. "You are dismissed."  
  
Zelda stood in shock, not fully comprehending. Her father had never dismissed her, it was what he did only to the nameless faces, to those who weren't in the circle of three, in her safe haven.  
  
"Zelda, one day, when I am dead, you may disobey whoever you like. But while I am superior, disobedience is not tolerated. Now go." It is not said harshly.Her father says this because he knows that when he is dead, the girl will still function as he has geared her to function. She is a good girl. She won't forget what he has taught her.  
  
"Yes sir." She won't forget. She will never forget. She is properly chatised, but she still has one last question. "Sir.." she trails off, scared to voice her question, but she does not stutter. Gathering courage, she tries again. "Sir, I don't understand. Why can other people do things we can't?"  
  
Why can they love? Why can they trust? Why can't we be happy too? she asks silently.  
  
"Other people have not our privileges."  
  
"I hate other people." The little girl is decided on this answer. Other people make her daddy act like he is now, make him change into a person that sets her on uneven ground that will crumble at any minute. She envies other people. She wishes she was them. They have something she doesn't and the little girl doesn't like not having everything.  
  
As the little girl leaves, she gives her father a look of condescension. Her haven has been shaken, but she is still secure in her secret knowledge. Poor daddy. He doesn't realize that the game isn't needed, that there's a path out. If only she could tell him....  
  
Others don't need the game, why should they?  
  
They are not others.  
  
And the thought is an isolate one.  
  
Later, She would destroy things, deliberately go against his orders, do anything only to take the starch out of her father's voice when he talked to her. He didn't just cease to be her daddy in terms of name only, but in actions. His face was blank. Was he empty?  
  
She used to dream he was. Nightmares of an empty body filled with flies and maggots. The nightmares held truth. Her real father was dead.   
  
Zelda continues to rock back and forth, the motion becoming manic now, with no end and no beginning, just like the rain that pours off her, dripping from her shoulders to the damp earth and running in tiny rivers and streams at her feet.  
  
"Father, for all your lessons, I know nothing." The words were spit towards the ground, the mutterer of them bloated, misshapen clouds in the sky as if daring them to send forth lightning to strike her upon the spot for her spite. Then, her every move violent defiance, Zelda picked herself up from the mud and walked back towards the house, lips mumbling words she had never said before. I'm sorry.  
  
With each step, Zelda's head raised a little higher, her step became a little lighter.  
  
***********  
  
The words so carefully planned died in Zelda's throat the minute she entered back into the house, warmth driving away the chill in her body. Malon turned her head from the window where she sat, absorbed in reading some book or other. Zelda frowned in distaste. A romance if the cover was anything to judge.  
  
One glance to make sure it was Zelda and Malon went back to her book. Zelda, used to a minimum of forty people groveling every time she so much as breathed (and quadruple that number on festival days and Sundays) was not used to being so blatantly ignored. She cleared her throat. No effect. Next, she tried loudly coughing.  
  
When she got to the hacking stage, Malon at last gave her benefit of one eye, the other still greedily perusing her book.  
  
"Well?"  
  
Zelda was baffled and her temper, the one emotion she had never managed to keep in check nearly as well as her others, returned full force. Really! She had meant to apologize..but she had expected Malon to apologize first.  
  
Malon, watching as Zelda fought some internal battle, felt her face turn in sympathy. Maybe she was being slightly too harsh, it was her fault more than Zelda's. Apologizing was hard, especially for Zelda, who had probably only apologized for one thing in her life; her birth. Not being a male was a heinous crime for the firstborn of any monarch.  
  
"I came back here to allow you the satisfaction of apologizing."  
  
So much for sympathy. Malon strived to hide a smile behind her book, but Zelda glimpsed it.  
  
"You find something amusing? Need I remind you that I am Princess K-"  
  
"In the name of Dinn, please don't start with all the titles. I find nothing amusing, your highness."  
  
"Then why are you smiling?"  
  
All pretense of reading the book was given up. "Because I'm happy? Because the sun is up? Because I'm too tired to frown? Pick a reason, any reason. I am not royalty, and therefor am not forced to keep my mouth in a line straighter than a picket fence from sunup to sundown." Zelda was driving her to such snappiness with her egotism. Honestly, that girl expected the river to split itself in two for her on whimsy.  
  
"You are far too liberal with your words. I could have you killed for them."  
  
Zelda liked being feared because it encouraged distance. She who was required to placate and please nobility, also had a perverse delight in toying with people of no importance to see how far they would go before they snapped. Of course, the point was not necessarily to snap them, only to make them bend as far as possible in uncomfortable directions.  
  
"I know." Malon prayed her voice didn't sound as nearly as hesitant as she felt. She was rewarded for her prayers when it stayed steady and strong, not betraying her.  
  
There was acceptance in the words even as there was a small bit of fear. But in spite of that small bit of fear, Malon wasn't going to give Zelda any distance. Even Zelda's walls of ice and disdain would serve little purpose here. Malon was so damn...secure. She'd just keep right on talking even if Zelda gave her the worst of insults. Zelda had changed her mind. Malon's mouth closed only when her eyelids did.  
  
To see Malon so brazen was strange though Zelda had encouraged it. The girl had always been so demure and timid when Ingo threatened near. Link had spoken angrily of her lack of assertiveness, how she had done nothing to help herself out of her present situation. It was one of the few occasions Zelda could truly remember agreeing with him, though she knew the only reason he said so about Malon was because of his frustration at not being able to do anything himself to remedy things. For all Link could be so selfless, he could also be as selfish as Zelda. Or perhaps that was only her wishful thinking. Cor, she had to have something in common with him, didn't she?  
  
Link and Malon would make a perfect couple, both pretending to be selfless, going around with the lofty goal of..of something or other, Zelda wasn't quite sure what, but whatever it was, it elevated their heads so high in the clouds, the rest of their bodies were definitely floating in the stratosphere. Not to mention it was infuriating. You got the feeling they were trying going somewhere in life, while you, on the other hand, stood still, watching them pass by as they ran in circles, getting the sick feeling one of these days they weren't going to make the return trip at all, but just be lost Out There. Out There, to Zelda, consisted of any place outside Hyrule, though a few guards would have told you it was more like any place outside the sheltered castle walls.  
  
It was all fine and well to have goals. Zelda liked people with goals, it made them more interesting. But Zelda's experience with goals was strictly defined to one type, the single-minded-I-will-bloody- kill-you-if-you-get- in-my-way-you-incompetent-mouse kind. With these types of goals, it was always better to view people, as mentioned previously, as mice. Or little sticks that just happened to have heads and flailing legs and arms. Anything, so long as the brain was a mere asset and not an actual component of a personality. Even Zelda wasn't so hard hearted that she could crush people if she thought of them as people.  
  
Apparently, Malon and Link had goals that involved thinking and treating people as people. Heroic goals about saving the world, making the world a better place, and stuff like that. Well, if they thought they would become happy by doing such deeds, they were sorely mistaken, from Zelda's point of view. . Zelda measured happiness purely in terms of profit, and profit purely in terms of money and power. How could Malon or Link hope to get any of that by their goals? Sure planting daffodils across marketplace would make it more beautiful and so forth, but you personally wouldn't gain anything from it except the knowledge you did a good deed and really, what would you do with that? Tally it on some kind of chart?  
  
Zelda shook her head. She just couldn't understand it. She didn't like people she couldn't understand. How on earth was she supposed to exploit them that way?  
  
************  
  
Ye gods and goddesses (and minor druids of the inner circle, outer circle, and middle circle) Zelda was self absorbed. For the past ten minutes, she had failed to notice the fact that Malon was reading her book upside down.  
  
Malon was sure of these facts, both the the ten minutes passing of time and the reading upside down, because one, Malon had been watching the clock tick every second and two, anything Zelda noticed, she would comment on. Especially something stupid like reading a book upside down.  
  
She was sitting there like a bloody rock.  
  
Ever of an active imagination, Malon looked at Zelda, shuddered, and amended her words. Okay, maybe not exactly like a bloody rock, though Malon's eyes themselves were practically bleeding in sympathy at the way Zelda's own eyes continued to stare without so much as blinking. It was very unnerving. Thank goodness they were staring at the unseen spot above her head, and not her. Malon was glad of that.  
  
She would have rolled her eyes, but having done so a high quantity of occasions within Zelda's company thus far, her eyes were stuck only being able to move rather pathetically sideways.  
  
The only way to read a book upside down is to be upside down.  
  
This particular nugget of wisdom lodged in Malon's brain was making itself heard over and over again, loud and clear, while the rest of her thoughts told it to shut the hell up.  
  
Malon listened to it. She was one of the select few persons in the world that didn't just occasionally tune in to her thoughts, but payed close attention to them constantly.. She tried to act on all her thoughts and dreams to the best of her ability.  
  
Malon didn't just try to live up to her own dreams; she of course tried to make everyone else. This was what essentially was bad about it all. The law of fate said you couldn't possibly live out as many dreams as Malon had. Else, Malon would be wife to five husbands, all handsome, all owners of white stallions, and all princes of the same country.  
  
So, in obedience to that one thought, Malon immediately flipped herself upside down on the chair and reopened her book. She was getting desperate for Zelda's attention without being sure exactly why.  
  
It was the stare, it had to be the stare. Besides, one couldn't possibly sit still for such a length of period without vegetables or other various vegetation starting to grow on them. Malon read that in a book once.  
  
*******  
  
"Link really sho-"  
  
Zelda came out of her private retreat to find herself adressing Malon's toes. Malon's dirty toes. Her dirty, wriggling toes. Sort of like worms after you chopped them in half. This was disturbing, even more so than Zelda coming to terms with the fact she had an imagination after all.  
  
"You're reading that book upside down."  
  
"Have been for the past twelve minutes or so."  
  
"No," Zelda commented. "Not reading the upside down book, reading the book upside down."  
  
"That's exactly why I'm doing it," Malon stated in a matter of a fact way.  
  
"Ah." Malon was either using extremely sensible or extremely nonsensical.There obviously wasn't much of a line drawn between the borders of the two. Not that Zelda was fully listening (she never fully listened to anyone out of habit) but even if she had been, she knew she wouldn't have understood a word of what Malon was saying.  
  
"What's the difference?" Zelda ventured.  
  
"You don't understand a word of what I just said, do you? It's really all very practical."  
  
"Of course I understand!"  
  
Malon generously allowed Zelda few minutes to catch up to the conversation and grab hold of it from behind, while it tried to fly away. "Though, if you're upside down to read a book upside down, then why not save yourself the effort and just read the book right side up? I mean, not the upside down book right side up, but the right side book upside up. Wait, no, that's not right..."  
  
Malon put the book down and turned right side up again. She laughed, then as if sensing Zelda's hatred of laughing, cleared her throat and changed the subject. She was talented at this, considering it like playing poker, the exception being you only had to fool one person as opposed to several. Why, whenever the sheriff came along for taxes, Malon could get him to forget his original purpose with a few carefully chosen words meant to encourage. Within half an hour, she was pouring him a glass of sweet tea while he talked about his family and his personal preference for the new fashion of wearing double garters.  
  
It was simple to be encouraging. Well, for Malon it was, anyway. Flowers did all but grow from seeds overnight with her dodged coaxing.  
  
"So Link should what?"  
  
"What?"  
  
Malon tried a more direct tactic. "Oh, you know. What were you saying about Link earlier?"  
  
"Oh that. I was thinking, you and him are two peas in a pod. Going around all sparkly eyed, vying for the good in everyone, etc. Really, he should love you."  
  
The way Zelda said this just dared Malon to try and find anything sentimental in the previous statement. Her voice had all the personality of a mop, while still managing to suggest that her opinion of Link sat somewhere between a blur of discreet nothing and constantly chattering chipmunk.  
  
"But he doesn't. He loves you."  
  
"Yes, well I'm sure I'm flattered, but I don't love him." Zelda was slowly talking herself out of the wedding backwards. It wasn't a very wise move to marry Link if he loved or was loved by another, was it? Sure, she would have had the satisfaction of breaking his heart, but there was that tiny chance his heart wouldn't be broken at all, that he would continue loving another even as he married her. Zelda didn't truly believe he'd do so ghastly a crime, because she knew if Link was anything, it was honorable, but still, didn't love have the power to make fools out of kings, kings out of fools? Best not to marry someone unless, Zelda decided grimly, he was both of those. She must have absolute and utter devotion if she wanted to be The Ruler and not a ruler, submitting her and the reign of the kingdom to her husband's rule.  
  
What Zelda, for all her "wisdom" didn't realize, was that behind her grand first reason, there was a second one lying in wait. "You could make him love you," advised she.  
  
Malon shook her head in the direction of her lap, playing with her hands as she always did when ill at ease or upset. "No, that's not the same at all. That's not what real love is."  
  
"Sounds horrible," said Zelda with the maddening conviction of one who not only doesn't grasp the topic, but is furiously pulling at it to get it down to her level. " I don't see why you keep trying. You're only going to get hurt again and again."  
  
Malon's face at this point was not only turned towards her lap, it was bowed so low, it was very nearly sitting in it. "But I can't stop trying. Someone out there.. I have to keep trying until I find them. Someone who won't make it hurt so badly."  
  
Zelda hmphed and tried to ignore the fact that Malon's voice wavered. Zelda self consciously said nothing. Sympathy and words of comfort were to be administered to others only when she was caught in enemy territory looking for a path of security.  
  
Malon rallied herself. "So, what went on out there in the rain earlier? Not that I'm that curious or anything, but you did spend an awful lot of time out there for one who believes rain comes with toads and other nasty aspects."  
  
"I had a nightmare."  
  
Malon forgot about her own problems at once. (She was adept at doing this. Her own problems had long since burrowed themselves at the very back of her mind in a dark closet.)  
  
"So even your dreams aren't your own? That's terrible! I hate my life, but at least I can get away. "  
  
"They're why I can't let myself feel"-Zelda sounded as if she was discussing another's problems and not her own-"In my dreams, I used to feel all the pain of everyone. I used to feel his pain. He's not human, but he has pain of his own kind-I couldn't take it anymore. I can't save them. Any of them."  
  
"From what?"  
  
Zelda didn't answer.  
  
"Are you talking about Ganon?" Malon's was horrified. "You have dreams about him?"  
  
"Ganondorf, not Ganon. Or maybe he's in between the two somehow. He cares not a whit, but yet he still has this pain lodged inside." Zelda ran a nail up and down her own arm. "I think I'm becoming him."  
  
However Zelda was becoming Ganondorf, it was not in the physical, but in the head. Was she crazy?  
  
Zelda's eyes told Malon she was not. They saw so far away, yet were so close. They may have been here, but they were not seeing here. Whatever they saw was not pleasant. Zelda blinked once, twice, then shut her eyes tight.  
  
"I don't want to feel. It hurts."  
  
"Of course. It always hurts. More and more each day. Like an arrow that twists itself in deeper and deeper."  
  
"Can I ask you something? Have you ever thought of-?"  
  
Zelda was still stroking her own arm, like a cat licking itself. Her fingers suddenly stopped running up and down and became an immobile grasp on either side of her arms, a desperate cling to save herself from going where henceforth only her eyes had gone.  
  
Malon responded to Zelda's question without delay, with it hoping to bring her back to herself from whatever nightmare of day she had just experienced. "I have. But as much as I hate my life, I don't hate life itself. I wouldn't go through with it. What if I miss..."  
  
"Love?"- there was none of Zelda's previous apathy in her voice now- "You aren't killing yourself for love? Hah!"  
  
Malon didn't rise to the bait. "You've thought of it too, haven't you?"  
  
" I'm not weak."  
  
" That's not true. Do you ever think of people as anything besides something to lever yourself higher or better serve your needs?"  
  
"I am where I am because I think that way. And you are where you are because-"  
  
"It has nothing to do with that! Don't you damn act like I deserve what I was given. I don't. I deserve better...I will get better." Malon didn't sound proud as much as hopeful.  
  
"You don't fully believe that. When will your prince charming come, huh? Years from now? You're living for vengeance, for absolution, for proof."  
  
"And you are dying for it. You didn't get where you are alone. You deserve everything you've gotten."  
  
"That's not true!" The exclamation at the end of that claim could have formed itself in the air.  
  
"'Tis. You want to know yourself? You're a self centered, conceited, annoying brat, who only wants more and more power. You want something without even knowing why! You'll end up with naught but power and money!"  
  
Zelda smiled.  
  
"Is that all you want?" questioned Malon. "Well, is it?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"That's not wise."  
  
"Neither is love. You think Ingo's broken your bones, it will break your heart."  
  
"I take that risk. With love, all else is incomparable. What is money for except to please people? If you have love, there is no one to please, no need for anything to add to yourself."  
  
"If you have love, you are forever lost, and the poison seeps into your mind."  
  
"Oh and how would you know? You've never loved. You're more scared than I am, afraid to find out consequences for yourself instead of from daddy dearest. For the goddesses sake, life has choices. Make them for yourself instead of having someone else make all of them for you! Good lord, I swear, you're so frightened of everything you don't understand or haven't experienced, that your father doesn't allow, I wager you'll ask to be buried with an axe in your coffin, just in case you're still alive."  
  
"And you, for all you ever talk, talk, talk, do you ever act? You just go around stumbling in day dreams. Why? Because don't have strength to make them reality. Do something for yourself instead of just waiting. What are you waiting for? The sky to turn green and the grass blue?" Zelda leered.  
  
Right, thought Malon. If ever she'd been waiting for a go ahead sign, that was it. Blocking her brain and all the jitters and warnings contained in it, she leaned over close to Zelda's face. "Just be," she whispered. And then she kissed her.  
  
Zelda's thoughts swam in an inner pool of blood and tears. The kiss was nowhere near perfect, and both Zelda and Malon were too self conscious to fully enjoy it, but that was not the important matter. The important matter was not the casting of the stone itself, but the ripple effects it would cause.  
  
She wished the kiss would never stop, because she knew when it stopped, it would never start again. The kiss was like drowning in honey, that you felt the despair and melancholy even in the sweetness of it all.  
  
Zelda loathed wishes. They were a dangerous mutilating tool. She had let them get too close, too near and dear, they had and would dilute her, sully her until she was no longer herself, composed of nothing but wishes and dreams destined to disappoint. But then, who was she, herself, anyway? A personality built on other's wishes, not her own.  
  
Zelda decided instead that she loathed other's wishes.  
  
In the process of learning to mold others, she had been molded herself. By Ganondorf and Ganon, by her father, by rules, even by this..by Malon.  
  
*********  
  
"I must leave now. You have to understand," Zelda said firmly when the kiss ended. She put her palms in front of Malon's face carefully, startled at the closeness and proximity of another human being, never touching the skin there, but spreading her palms so that the fingers were like a fan, the contours, tones, and planes of Malon's face peeking out from beneath.  
  
"Don't run away." Malon reached up to grab Zelda's hands and Zelda's hands withdrew like a cobra after a deadly strike. "Everyone else always runs away," said Malon sadly.  
  
Zelda stared at Malon, uninhibited, her gaze memorizing what her hands were too reprehensive to dare to do. "Oh, how I want to not.."  
  
Her voice broke off, and then continued, firmer. "But I can't." Zelda turned away from Malon. "Ugh, why is this happening? I hate love! I wish it never existed!"  
  
Zelda sought comfort from herself and found none.  
  
"Don't you ever say that! Not ever! If I didn't believe someone out there cared what happened to me.." Malon changed her mind about finishing that sentence. "I love you."  
  
"Since when?"  
  
"Since now."  
  
"You can't." Zelda was definitely not in her element now, not judging by the way she was backing away from Malon rapidly towards the door, an expression of revulsion on her face. "You can't rake in love so casually."  
  
"You wouldn't know, you've never been in love."  
  
"Don't want to be!" said Zelda, her voice sprinting for the door, even though she had not quite reached it. "I'm still marrying Link!"  
  
"Not because you want to. You've tricked yourself into believing duty is life. It's not. I never thought you were a coward."  
  
"I am NOT a coward. I AM marrying Link. And I WILL never forget this day. Goodbye."  
  
Zelda went out of Malon's house into the rain similar to how she had entered, slamming the door.  
  
************  
  
The Zelda that came back in a few ticks of the clock later was a bit more mellow. "I meant what I said about not forgetting this day, but I didn't mean what I said about marrying Link. I've decided I won't. No point to it. So, he's yours."  
  
Refusing to marry Link, Zelda concluded, was partly identifying herself at the same time.  
  
*************  
  
When Zelda woke up the following morning, she found herself wondering if it had all been a dream. The fact that the events of last night were as lucid as a foggy pond did not matter, for with Zelda, the line between reality and dreams was a thin one, one blending into another until she was not sure where truth began and lies broke off. For Malon, it was alike, her dreams more remembered than any petty thing she did during the day. Malon lived in dreams because she could not live in reality. Zelda had heard the fable once of a poor man that blinded himself in order to no longer see the poverty in which he lay, in order to be free to imagine with no restrictions. Malon would never cease to dream, Zelda hoped, not even after...  
  
But Malon was stronger than one might think. She had had her dreams crushed and trampled beneath the dust of despair multitudes of times, and yet she persisted. One more slap could do no worse.  
  
At the same time, a treacherous part of Zelda hoped it did, wanted Malon to feel as much pain as she was feeling, wanted the slap of uncertainty to be brutal. Malon was chained as she was chained, forever, bound to one another by their circular cages, full of spikes and thorns that intertwined around and around, closing them in on all sides, piercing them until they could do naught but try and become that which destroyed them.  
  
It was not a dream, though Zelda never could determine how she knew this. Too tangible. In Zelda's dreams, she could taste, touch, hear, smell, see the world around her, but this was a different sort of awareness, her senses so acute it hurt, not with a sporadic, intense urgency that spoke of the shadows that filled the light in her dreams but a dull pain, aching just enough to let her know it was there, a constant reminder of life, a life which was still in the dark, but with shadows cast across it now, coming from a window she was too afraid, there in the dark, all alone, to open.  
  
The pain was coming from her heart. Malon's hands had shaped it for better or for worse, and at least she had warned zelda before she hurt her. How had Zelda returned such kindness? By running off herself, running before the wound could become any worse. Instead, it was intensified, gaping as if torn at, whispering whatifwhatifiwhatifwhatif.  
  
On an inkling, Zelda inclined her head to stare out her window once again. No return image greeted her searching eyes except for the bleeding of red and gold, the sun shining through the window mixing with the tones of her deep carpet. The window had been repaired. It can't be allowed to be broken. I can't be allowed to be broken. But how can I manage to appear whole when I'm in pieces?  
  
"I can't see myself," she whispered.  
  
Her view began to blur with the stained glass until a hazy rain of intertwining hues danced before her eyes, bleeding downwards in her vision like a rainbow of tears.  
  
Zelda's hands reached up to her eyes in wonder, touching the dampness there, feeling it drop down her nose and cheeks in small droplets and stain the blankets beneath her. She was crying.  
  
********** "What sort of finality will this bring?"  
  
"None. But one day, you will stop, wherever you are, whatever you may be doing, and you will remember, and I will too. And the distance won't matter anymore, because we will be together."  
  
And she stops, wherever she is, whatever she may be doing.   
  
***********  
  
On that rare day, when the sun shows gold through the pale threads of a cloud, it reminds her of then, of their hair mingling, a river of fire and ice.  
  
And she stops, wherever she is, whatever she may be doing, and smiles, a sight not near so rare as it once was.  
  
But regretting then will not change the now. Then is in the past, and her future awaits, one that promises to be exciting for as long as she does not forget..how it all once was. No regrets, she remembers. No regrets. Louder than this voice is the persistent one, the one she has learned to embrace, the constant ache. Whatifwhatifwhatif.  
  
She smiles wider and finds its makes her heart lighter and more at ease.  
  
I remember, Malon..  
  
Do you?  
  
********* The End *********  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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End file.
